Chapter 1: Cold Blooded Murder
A crowd of over 30,000 was all she could see as she panted, the sweat dripping down into her emerald eyes as she scanned the large, open stone arena circling around her. Scanning the many faces, she recognized not one of them. Her heart continued to race as she slowly turned. She raised her hand to her brow and wiped some of the sweat off her face, continuously scanning the crowd looking for someone she knew.
As she continued to turn, her left foot accidentally kicked something on the ground in front of her. She looked down at the body of the woman that lay on the parched, bloody sand. A few inches away from the body was its head, the icy blue eyes still open. She stared at it as it stared back at her. Glancing at her wrist, she saw the bloody weapon that had caused such an injury. It quickly changed from a bloody sword back to a metallic bracelet with a deep red amulet in its center. Her hand covered her mouth as she began to back away in horror. Her stomach was quickly losing its ability to contain whatever was in it.
Continuing to retreat, she hit something behind her. She spun around, finding a man blocking her exit. His deep sapphire eyes gazed down at her with sad understanding. He appeared to know her, but she did not know him. His hand gently made its way to her face, caressing her cheek.
Just as the man was about to speak, Sara Pezzini woke up in a cold sweat. Panting her relief that it was just a weird dream, she glanced at her wrist to make sure the Witchblade was still securely attached to it. The Witchblade, an ancient weapon known to have only been worn by powerful women throughout history, resembled a striking beautiful bracelet until its wielder or the weapon changed its state into a medieval weapon. It had belonged to Kenneth Irons, the cold blooded billionaire whose ruthless and shrewd business dabbles included the illegal weapons trade, until the fateful day when the blade had chosen Sara as its next wielder, leaping from the display case at the Midtown Museum during a police altercation and onto the wrist of the perplexed NYPD homicide detective.
The metallic bracelet with its deep red amulet sat on her wrist, but there was something different about it. The amulet was glowing an angry red. Sara knew something big was going to happen. The amulet always glowed that angry shade of red just before she faced an evil force. Many had tried to take the Witchblade from her, but ended up failing.
Throwing her pillow over her head, Sara mumbled, "Not now. I still have a few hours of sleep left." She ignored it, knowing that whatever was waiting for her could wait until morning. She closed her eyes and fell asleep once more.
*~*~*
She stealthily made her way down the hall, her little feet making almost no sound as they plodded down the carpeted floor of the hallway towards the open door that led to the arena. In her hand was a long, thin object, its sharp, metal point parallel to the floor, away from her lithe body. Her breathing came in short breaths as her heart raced with the ancient instinct to hunt and kill.
The woman maneuvered her body in such a way that only an agile gymnast could mimic as she moved through the gaps between the steel braces that held up the stage. Her target was just in range. About a hundred feet in front of the woman stood her unsuspecting victim; a tall young man with cropped black hair and eyes the color of chocolate.
Ryan Walters was handsome in many aspects, especially those that were physical. His body was built like an ox, ready to move anything. What made him the perfect target was the fact that he had no family, no friends, not even a girlfriend. He was the loaner among the crew, barely talking to anyone unless he was spoken to first. His eyes were always downcast and distant, as if he were in a daze most of the time.
The woman slowed her movements, but her heart continued to race. Her ice blue eyes were on fire, the urge to do what she did best running through her veins like the adrenaline in her system. She raised the sharp dagger- like object above her head as she slinked past another support beam towards the young man. With a gentle tap on his shoulder, she managed to turn him in her direction.
Ryan felt the thin fingertip that grazed his shoulder and slowly turned to see who it was behind him. Just as he was about to get a glimpse of the woman's face, a sharp object came down on his chest. He gasped for breath, his eyes glazing over as they rolled into the backs of their sockets. The last thing Ryan saw before he went unconscious was the woman's long blond hair turning away from him, then his eyes fluttered closed.
The woman quickly took the opportunity to make her signature mark. With one swift motion from her arm, she sliced off his head, leaving it to bleed beneath the stage. Hopefully someone would discover it in the morning before the concert.
*~*~*
Sara had managed to catch a few more hours of sleep before the phone so rudely awaken her. She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed her cell. "Who's dead and where?" she immediately asked, her instincts telling her exactly who was on the phone.
"Ryan Walters," her partner, Danny Woo, simply replied. "At Madison Square Garden. I'll meet you there in an hour."
"Alright," Sara said as she hung up. With a sigh of discomfort, she dragged herself out of bed and walked into the bathroom to start her daily routine. Homicide was her specialty, but it seemed that ever since she came into contact with the Witchblade, nothing about her investigations was simple or straightforward. They had become the weird, unexplained deaths of New York. The cases she and the Witchblade only had the power to solve. Sara took her time getting ready that morning. She knew her strange dream had something to do with this new case, but she wasn't about to let it run amuck in her brain.
A crowd of over 30,000 was all she could see as she panted, the sweat dripping down into her emerald eyes as she scanned the large, open stone arena circling around her. Scanning the many faces, she recognized not one of them. Her heart continued to race as she slowly turned. She raised her hand to her brow and wiped some of the sweat off her face, continuously scanning the crowd looking for someone she knew.
As she continued to turn, her left foot accidentally kicked something on the ground in front of her. She looked down at the body of the woman that lay on the parched, bloody sand. A few inches away from the body was its head, the icy blue eyes still open. She stared at it as it stared back at her. Glancing at her wrist, she saw the bloody weapon that had caused such an injury. It quickly changed from a bloody sword back to a metallic bracelet with a deep red amulet in its center. Her hand covered her mouth as she began to back away in horror. Her stomach was quickly losing its ability to contain whatever was in it.
Continuing to retreat, she hit something behind her. She spun around, finding a man blocking her exit. His deep sapphire eyes gazed down at her with sad understanding. He appeared to know her, but she did not know him. His hand gently made its way to her face, caressing her cheek.
Just as the man was about to speak, Sara Pezzini woke up in a cold sweat. Panting her relief that it was just a weird dream, she glanced at her wrist to make sure the Witchblade was still securely attached to it. The Witchblade, an ancient weapon known to have only been worn by powerful women throughout history, resembled a striking beautiful bracelet until its wielder or the weapon changed its state into a medieval weapon. It had belonged to Kenneth Irons, the cold blooded billionaire whose ruthless and shrewd business dabbles included the illegal weapons trade, until the fateful day when the blade had chosen Sara as its next wielder, leaping from the display case at the Midtown Museum during a police altercation and onto the wrist of the perplexed NYPD homicide detective.
The metallic bracelet with its deep red amulet sat on her wrist, but there was something different about it. The amulet was glowing an angry red. Sara knew something big was going to happen. The amulet always glowed that angry shade of red just before she faced an evil force. Many had tried to take the Witchblade from her, but ended up failing.
Throwing her pillow over her head, Sara mumbled, "Not now. I still have a few hours of sleep left." She ignored it, knowing that whatever was waiting for her could wait until morning. She closed her eyes and fell asleep once more.
*~*~*
She stealthily made her way down the hall, her little feet making almost no sound as they plodded down the carpeted floor of the hallway towards the open door that led to the arena. In her hand was a long, thin object, its sharp, metal point parallel to the floor, away from her lithe body. Her breathing came in short breaths as her heart raced with the ancient instinct to hunt and kill.
The woman maneuvered her body in such a way that only an agile gymnast could mimic as she moved through the gaps between the steel braces that held up the stage. Her target was just in range. About a hundred feet in front of the woman stood her unsuspecting victim; a tall young man with cropped black hair and eyes the color of chocolate.
Ryan Walters was handsome in many aspects, especially those that were physical. His body was built like an ox, ready to move anything. What made him the perfect target was the fact that he had no family, no friends, not even a girlfriend. He was the loaner among the crew, barely talking to anyone unless he was spoken to first. His eyes were always downcast and distant, as if he were in a daze most of the time.
The woman slowed her movements, but her heart continued to race. Her ice blue eyes were on fire, the urge to do what she did best running through her veins like the adrenaline in her system. She raised the sharp dagger- like object above her head as she slinked past another support beam towards the young man. With a gentle tap on his shoulder, she managed to turn him in her direction.
Ryan felt the thin fingertip that grazed his shoulder and slowly turned to see who it was behind him. Just as he was about to get a glimpse of the woman's face, a sharp object came down on his chest. He gasped for breath, his eyes glazing over as they rolled into the backs of their sockets. The last thing Ryan saw before he went unconscious was the woman's long blond hair turning away from him, then his eyes fluttered closed.
The woman quickly took the opportunity to make her signature mark. With one swift motion from her arm, she sliced off his head, leaving it to bleed beneath the stage. Hopefully someone would discover it in the morning before the concert.
*~*~*
Sara had managed to catch a few more hours of sleep before the phone so rudely awaken her. She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed her cell. "Who's dead and where?" she immediately asked, her instincts telling her exactly who was on the phone.
"Ryan Walters," her partner, Danny Woo, simply replied. "At Madison Square Garden. I'll meet you there in an hour."
"Alright," Sara said as she hung up. With a sigh of discomfort, she dragged herself out of bed and walked into the bathroom to start her daily routine. Homicide was her specialty, but it seemed that ever since she came into contact with the Witchblade, nothing about her investigations was simple or straightforward. They had become the weird, unexplained deaths of New York. The cases she and the Witchblade only had the power to solve. Sara took her time getting ready that morning. She knew her strange dream had something to do with this new case, but she wasn't about to let it run amuck in her brain.